


we could have it soft

by RenderedReversed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cultivation AU, M/M, Reincarnation, Wuxia, fluff?? in my martial arts au?? it's more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: "We're not cultivating together."Bellatrix squints at him. "Suuureyou're not."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 32
Kudos: 608





	we could have it soft

"We're not cultivating together."

Bellatrix squints at him. " _Suuure_ you're not, itty bitty Potty."

This is the _n_ th time they've had this conversation. Harry still remembers the first time—how it had taken days of ribbing, innocuous comments and hinting till he finally got what they were trying to say and exploded, face red, with assurances that no, he was _not_ dual cultivating with their sect master, thank-you-very-much, and how could they think such a thing?

But gone were those days. Now Harry just tells them outright the moment he thinks they've got it in their heads again, and each time he says it with a little more exasperation than the last.

The only thing Voldemort cares about is the _dao_. Maybe if Harry were several cultivation levels higher, then dual cultivation would be within the realm of possibility, but as it stands, he's not, and so it follows, _they're_ not.

Is that really so hard to believe?

Even Rodolphus gives him a doubtful look. Harry sighs.

Apparently so.

"Look," Harry says. "I don't really want to have this conversation again, and _you_ probably don't want to have this conversation again, so why don't you just tell me why you think that and I can prove you wrong and we can just pretend this whole thing never happened?"

"Bold of you to assume that," Bellatrix says, flipping her hair. "It's the way he looks at you. _And_ you look at him."

Harry blinks. "What way?"

"You know, _that_ way."

"I really don't know—that's why I'm asking you in the first place!"

Bellatrix wrinkles her nose. "No one is as familiar with Master as you are," she spits, grinding the words out from between her teeth.

The pout makes sense now.

"Don't make me admit that again," she adds, glaring.

"I won't," Harry says quickly. "But, well, this and that are two different things, okay? Voldemort and I—we go way back."

Back before this _lifetime_ , but they don't need to know that.

"So it doesn't mean what you think it means."

"Harry," Rodolphus says gently, or maybe it's pityingly, that's really up to interpretation. "Bellatrix and I are cultivation partners."

"…Yeah…"

"Dual cultivation isn't just cultivating—it's as good as bearing your soul to someone. Because of that, there are some things only a partner can know."

"Okay, I see where you're going with this, but we really haven't done that!"

"Done what, exactly?"

Harry whirls around. Voldemort is standing right behind him, an unamused look on his face as he looks down at Harry. Curse their height difference. Why did he have to be such a giant in every lifetime?

"Master!" Both Bellatrix and Rodolphus dip into a hasty, deep bow. Voldemort inclines his head and dismisses them.

"Done what?" he repeats after they've left.

There's a difference between 'keep no secrets' and 'save yourself from embarrassment'. Harry is of the firm belief that this case falls into the latter. As such—

He waves it off. "Nothing, nothing. Hey, you're outside for once! Did you finish early or—"

Voldemort's head tilts in that particular, reptilian fashion that makes him seem more lizard than man. It's an unconscious gesture that he makes when he's being quietly contemplative—not angry or irritated or viciously amused just, _musing_.

It never fails to make Harry stop talking and watch. He hopes Voldemort never realizes that he does it, because then he'll try to stop himself and Harry will lose one of the few genuine expressions of the non-murderous kind that he shows to the world.

Well. It's also very cute, and that's _doubly_ the reason why no one, especially Voldemort, can ever know.

Harry swallows. "Yeah?" he asks.

"You weren't there," Voldemort says, tasting the words as he says them like he's not sure they mean completely the right thing. They must satisfy him enough, however, because next he says, "It was…strange. Unfamiliar…off-putting."

"Oh," says Harry.

"I found…I had to _ensure_ …"

Harry's heart warms. _Oh_. "I'm here," he says. And then, softer, "The sect is well-protected. And your children are very obedient. No one's going to take me anywhere that I don't want to be."

Voldemort nods once, serious. Then, he turns and says, "Come."

Harry, as he has for several lifetimes now, follows.

* * *

The whole 'outside' comment was really more of a joke, as the entirety of the Flying Serpent Sect exists underground in a half-natural, half-sculpted cave system. There is little difference, however.

Save for the lack of blue sky, there is plenty of space. The cavern ceiling is so high up that there are mountains and cliffs beneath it; it's spacious enough for flight and trees and flowing water and living without feeling like you're stuck underground. The sect members make their homes in smaller subsections of the cave, which serve in and of itself as a defense, the pathways being so convoluted that it is, essentially, a maze down here.

Voldemort's own cave of choice is further from the rest. It's furnished only with the necessities and a fine sprinkle of sentiment; difficult for a stranger to spot but obvious in Harry's eyes.

For example, the candleholders. Voldemort does so like his scented candles, and he prefers them to any other light source. Appropriately placed throughout his living area, they each have a different candleholder won as a prize or a trophy during his travels.

Voldemort never particularly cared for carving them. It's his sense of smell that is most acute. Rather, it was Harry who said one day that he'd liked to try, and so among the plain candles are a couple of his own creation—an owl, a lotus flower, a set of tall tapers curled like soft petals on silk…

Harry makes himself at home on the futon. Aside from that, a short dresser, and a low table with buckwheat cushions for seats, there's no other furniture here. That doesn't mean Voldemort is _lacking_ —he has plenty of treasures enough stored in his spatial ring, and there's the sect stores for things like alchemy ingredients and books—it's just…minimal, in the space he spends the most time in.

Well, that's a cultivation maniac for you. Nothing in his eyes but pursuit of the grand _dao_. Harry smiles fondly from out of his impromptu nest.

After lighting his candles, Voldemort puts away the lighter. He looks back at Harry.

"Comfortable?" he asks dryly.

"Very."

Voldemort snorts. " _That_ is terrible posture for a cultivator," he says, but it lacks the sharp edge of a reprimand. Harry figures that's acceptance enough to keep doing what he's doing.

He yawns. "You know I don't give the _dao_ much thought."

Only as much as is necessary. He's not Voldemort; it's too boring to spend every life focusing on getting strong.

"Why give your thoughts to something you've already discovered?"

It's astute enough that Harry opens one lazy eye to stare at him. Voldemort does not act surprised, nor even jealous. He says it like it's fact.

It _is_ , of course, but it's not an observation he'd expect from someone who didn't know about his past lives. And yet, here they are.

Harry closes his eyes again. That's one thing about Voldemort, he supposes. Never a dull moment. Keeps him on his toes. Gradually changing, growing, _healing_ …what his final iteration will be like, even Harry doesn't know.

"The grand _dao_ is the same no matter what path you take to get there," he murmurs, drifting. "The _dao_ of swords, _dao_ of music, _dao_ of archery, alchemy, talismans, craft…many paths, one destination. Many destinations, all along the same path..."

After a while of orating, Harry takes a peek. Voldemort sits cross-legged, eyes closed, back straight in the traditional cultivation pose. It makes Harry want to helplessly laugh.

"You cultivation maniac," he mutters. "Can't we go five minutes without you ignoring me?"

"On the contrary—you are an inspiring teacher." Voldemort's red eyes glint in the candlelight. "I only wished to be a diligent student, lest I let your guidance slip from my grasp."

Most certainly a lie. As if Mr. Perfect Memory Retention—ignoring, of course, the exception of cross-lifetimes—could forget a thing. Harry rolls his eyes and turns on his side.

"Don't let your children hear you say that," he says, muffled in the blankets.

"You are my teacher. I have no shame."

"Not what I meant, but—oh, whatever. Did you really just drag me back here so you could go back to cultivating? What am I, your security blanket?"

No answer. Harry huffs. In that case, he might as well take a nap—

A hand brushes a stray strand back from his forehead. He snatches the hand before it can brush the place his scar used to be.

"Was that not alright," Voldemort says, like he doesn't know what he's doing every time he does something like _that_ , every time he shows Harry that what he's doing is worth it, that he's worth it, that he's already come so far from that splintered, fading soul that Harry had had a moment of pity for—

That he is capable of affection and respect, of friendship and trust and having trust, in turn, given to _him_ —

"It's alright," Harry says softly. "But make noise next time. So I know it's you."

To show him that it's fine, Harry guides the hand back to his head. He likes it when Voldemort plays with his hair. He knows when to be gentle, when to be firm. The hand is one he's familiar with. It's the closest Harry's ever felt to being a cat, bar actually _being_ a cat, and that's nice.

Voldemort reclines on the futon and Harry curls up next to him. As a peace offering, he allows him _some_ of the blankets.

Voldemort only bundles him tighter. Safe, warm, protected. If only his past self could see him now.

And, Harry thinks dazedly, if only the past Voldemort, too, could see him now.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with "dual cultivation", it's basically a euphemism for sex (+cultivating, so maybe sex power ups?? sex magic?? same thing)
> 
> I have a lot of headcanons for this verse but not a lot of coherency so it's hard to string together an actual fic;;;
> 
> ALSO ONE OF THESE IDIOTS (or both) IS ACEjust throwing that out there


End file.
